


The One Where John Is Jealous

by pulangaraw



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-28
Updated: 2010-09-28
Packaged: 2017-10-12 06:51:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/122080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pulangaraw/pseuds/pulangaraw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What it says in the title. Plus porn. ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One Where John Is Jealous

**Author's Note:**

> Flyby Sherlock/OFC.

John walks up the stairs to their flat, trying to jostle two bags of food and his backpack at the same time without losing his keys. There are faint noises coming from the living room, but he can't quite place them - isn't really paying attention anyway - still trying to decide if he wants pizza or jacket potato for dinner. Maybe he'll ask Sherlock.

Sherlock, who is currently on the sofa on top of a woman John has never seen before. His bare arse and back are gleaming pale against the dark cushions and wallpaper. He's moving rhythmically and it takes John's shocked brain a moment to catch on. They're fucking. Sherlock is fucking some woman in the living room on their sofa. Well, technically it's Sherlock's sofa, but since Sherlock has taken to using John's mobile more often than his own and is wearing John's clothes - yes, even his underwear, John is sure of it - John started seeing Sherlock's possessions as his own too.

Which really isn't the point right now. The point is that Sherlock is fucking a woman in their living room on their sofa. And really, John shouldn't be that surprised, but he is, especially after their conversation about this being "not really my area" and "I'm considering myself married to my work". After that, John had assumed Sherlock to not be interested in sex at all. Which - of course - was stupid. They'd been talking about relationships at the time, not just sex. And really, he should get out of here.

Except he finds himself staring at the pair on the sofa, mesmerised by the rhythmic movement of Sherlock's naked body. By the play of his muscles as they contract and release. By the shimmer of lamplight on his sweat-damp skin, the dark curls at the back of his neck. He's standing stock still in the doorway, barely daring to breathe lest he be discovered by either one of them.

Sherlock makes a sound then, a deep growl that seems to rise from deep within him and the sudden flare of arousal that sends through John's body finally wakes him out of his frozen state. Careful not to make a sound he turns and goes back down the stairs. He leaves his bags behind the front door and decides that this is the best time to take a walk. A long walk. He's never before been so grateful for a cold winter evening.

When he returns two hours later he makes sure to listen carefully before going up the stairs. The bags are gone from where he left them, so either Sherlock or Mrs Hudson took them in. Probably the latter.

He can't hear a sound, so he decides to brave the situation upstairs, whatever it might be. While the walk has taken care of his arousal - at least for now - he still can't shake the images from his mind. It leaves him feeling strangely shaky and embarrassed. Especially because he can't seem to recall anything about the woman Sherlock had been with. All his memories are centred around Sherlock. And while he's too old to fool himself about his sexual orientation, it does rattle him a bit to discover how focused he's become on the man. He's never given much about other people's warnings, but he does know that being obsessed with someone like Sherlock Holmes is anything but healthy.

He enters the flat to find Sherlock on the sofa. He's lying on his back this time, clothed in his usual pajamas and silk bathrobe and - to John's relief - alone.

"Hello," John says, determined to appear like he's just dropped in from work. He knows it's silly, especially because of the bags he left behind, and because of how Sherlock always seems to know everything - there was no way he didn't notice John at the door, John came to realise after about an hour of walking aimlessly through London. But maybe Sherlock can take a hint, just this once.

"Had a nice walk?" Sherlock asks.

"Yes. Fine. Very nice," John babbles and wills him to not say anything else, to, please, just leave it be.

Sherlock sits up, outright smirking at John now. "It does help to clear the head."

"Indeed. Pizza for dinner?" John heads into the kitchen.

"Already in the oven." Sherlock seems to allow the change of topic and John silently thanks whichever nameless deity might be watching at this moment.

Dinner is a tense affair. They're both mostly eating in silence, any conversation-attempts stilted and monosyllabic, so different from their usual banter. The more John thinks about it, the more annoyed he gets. He can't quite work out why, but the fact that Sherlock had been fucking some woman on their sofa - and yes, the fact bore repeating - was making him irrationally angry.

"You're angry," Sherlock observes eventually.

"What makes you think that?" John answers tersely.

"The way you're chewing. You've been biting down increasingly harder with every slice of pizza, if you keep going you'll break a tooth."

"And that's your business why exactly?" John can't help it. He really doesn't want to discuss the actual issue.

"I'm assuming that I am the source of your anger. What have I done now?" John can tell that the innocent tone is completely fake. Sherlock knows exactly why John is acting the way he is and the fact that he seems to see this as some sort of game makes something in John snap.

"You were fucking some hooker on our sofa, you don't think I have a right to be angry?" John shouts before he can stop himself.

Sherlock raises his eyebrows. "She's not a hooker and it's my sofa."

John is out of his seat and pacing. "In our living room. I do pay half the rent and for most of the food."

Sherlock watches him in silence for a few minutes, eyes narrowed. John tries to calm himself down, but without much success. There's something twisting in his gut, something beyond anger, some stupid emotion he has no right to have.

"This isn't about the fact that I fucked her on the sofa. It's about the fact that I fucked her at all." Sherlock says quietly.

John stops, stares at him. "What?"

There's a small smile curling the edges of Sherlock's lips. "You're jealous."

"I am not," John splutters.

"Oh, but you are. I could have fucked her in my bedroom or in a hotel or anywhere, you'd still be mad at me right now, because you, my dear John, are jealous." Sherlock leans back against the sofa cushions, a gesture so self-satisfied, it makes John want to grab and shake him. Or maybe kiss him. And - fuck - he shouldn't be thinking that. He catches himself staring at Sherlock's mouth, finds it impossible to tear his eyes away from the lush lips that, only hours ago, had been kissing someone else's mouth.

"Point in case," Sherlock says and it shakes John out of his trance. He purses his lips and turns to walk away. He needs to get out of here before he does something stupid. Like scream or punch Sherlock in the face or fuck him senseless.

Sherlock is in front of him before he even reaches the doorway. "There's no need to be jealous, you know," he says, and his voice is somehow even deeper than usual, gravelly and seductive and - oh, god - John can feel himself blush and it's ridiculous because no way does Sherlock mean what John thinks he means. But then Sherlock bends down a bit and his lips brush against John's and that's it. John gasps, hands reaching out to curl into Sherlock bathrobe, to pull him closer. He needs more contact, needs to feel Sherlock pressing against him. Sherlock's hands are in his hair, holding his head steady while his tongue is taking possession of John's mouth.

John has a moment to marvel at how they got from fighting to making out in seconds, before his body demands that he pay more attention to what is going on and he loses himself to the feel of Sherlock's clever mouth kissing him, his own hands stroking up and down Sherlock's back, finding warm skin underneath the bathrobe.

"Too many clothes," Sherlock growls sometime later and John blinks, notices they've somehow ended up on the sofa, John lying on his back, Sherlock on top of him.

John flashes back to the image of Sherlock doing exactly this to someone else only hours before and it almost makes him pull away. But Sherlock is tugging at his trousers, pushing his pants down and then his fingers close around John's erection and it's almost too much to take, so John closes his eyes, lets his head fall back and gives himself over to sensation.

Sherlock moves on top of him and his fingers open briefly, only to close around him again, enclosing Sherlock's own erection in the hold he has on John. John's hips try to push up of their own accord, but his movements are hindered by Sherlock's weight on top of him. Sherlock starts stroking them both, setting a rhythm that has John groan, and he pulls Sherlock's head down for another kiss without even opening his eyes.

It doesn't take long after that. Sherlock kisses and bites his way down John's neck - and this is going to leave bruises later, but John doesn't really care right now because it feels so good - the movement of his hand becoming faster and less measured, pulling John inexorably towards orgasm.

Sherlock bites down on John's collarbone, follows it up with a wet lick of his tongue, simultaneously swiping his thumb over the head of John's dick and that's it, he's falling, coming all over his own stomach. He's not quite spent when Sherlock follows him over the edge.

John is still basking in the afterglow when Sherlock says, his voice warm, "Still jealous?"

John smacks him over the head without opening his eyes. "Shut up."

He can feel Sherlock's chuckle all the way down to his toes.

The End.


End file.
